


Prick Thee to Thy Bone

by ChocolateCarnival



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Diadem! Horcrux, M/M, Possessive Tom Riddle, Sadistic Tom, Slow Build, Slytherin Harry, Soul Bond, Threesome - M/M/M, multi-chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-06 18:23:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12216375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateCarnival/pseuds/ChocolateCarnival
Summary: Borne unto this world in sins and darkness, two lost souls shall once again come together as a whole. Alas, time has not been kind. Nor has fate. Following in the footsteps of one another without knowing, it was on this day October 31st, 1991, that they once more crossed paths in full awareness. Slowly, one awakes from slumber and the other shall learn he is not lost...





	1. To You, Polaris

**Author's Note:**

> It feels like forever since I have done this, I think I'm almost forgotten. Haha, I have returned from my three year sabbatical! Well, sort of. Anyways, I'm not going to prattle too much here, Honeys. I've decided to come back to my fanfiction pieces and write my most beloved stories. We'll start over on a new fandom as well.
> 
> This story is a little dark, so please heed the warnings below:
> 
> Pairing: Lord Voldemort x Harry Potter x Tom Marvolo Riddle [Diadem!Horcrux]
> 
> Yes, this is a threesome pairing, though it also a slow building fic as Harry is still in his first year. I'm writing him with his own twisted psyche. This won't be a story focused only revenge. Sorry if that is what you are looking for. I'm more of an author that focuses on the psychological aspect of my characters than the dialog. I also adore playing with the twisted minds.
> 
> Anyways, please note the warnings: M/M/M Slash pairing, Lemon Content in the future, Violence, Sadism [not sure if it'll be pared with Masochism either], Possessive!Voldemort, Slytherin!Harry, Horcrux Materialization and light Elements of Shota (though, any true sexual situations will only be after Harry is at least 15 – 16 ).
> 
> §...§ [Denotes the use of Parseltongue]
> 
> So, I think I'll leave this for now. Please do not read if any of the tags upset you. I have already placed the warning before, thus you are reading at your own risk.
> 
> Other than that; please enjoy:

Black. Cold. Ice. Fevered Darkness. Sensation was seemingly impossible when shrouded in the existence of a Horcrux. Completely encompassing the shard of Tom Marvolo Riddle's soul captured at the youthful age of twenty-seven; time had long since ceased moving. He was always drifting listlessly in a void of nothingness, a semi-conscious state precariously balanced on the edge of sensationless thoughts.

How long had he been here? How many nights, months, years had he spent curled contentedly within the bejewelled vessel anchoring his soul? How many decades had it been since a single placating touch had whispered sweetly across his flesh?

The shard could not remember.

No. It was useless to remember.

A Horcrux did not need to feel, nor taste or think for itself. It was merely a stopper in death…a bridge to immortality.

Alas, every so often, he would stir. Grimacing in distaste at the greedy little fingertips that soiled his vessel's pristine surface, intense blue sapphires glinted ominously black in the light of several flickering torches. The highly polished silver, imbued with coils of dark magic; shimmered wickedly enough to enrapture curious little minds all too eager to part with portions of their magic. Yet, they never lingered long enough to rouse him. Always, always, retreating fearfully from the overwhelming touch of his twisted soul.

That was until now.

He felt it at first, as if time had suddenly jolted back into being. Soft, gentle and small fingers were trailing curious patterns over coiled silver. A heady, burning, awareness flowing ceaselessly in the wake of tentative caresses as it resonated deeply within the very constructs of the ancient diadem.

It was short but blindingly intense. A few milliseconds of mutually touching souls, dark magic and innocent intent. Spiralling together in a much deeper, sensual, parody of a kiss; a steady but live heartbeat was set aflutter in tandem to the shard's own racing pulse. Allowing for the slumbering entity to slowly uncurl itself from the restrictive confines of its vessel, a freezing whisper of white frost soon followed the stone floor.

Experiencing an oddly freeing sensation, the Horcrux unconsciously drew its strength from the diadem's core, twisting his mind into full wakefulness and blindly reaching out to the one rousing him from decades of delirious sleep. It was both gentle, cold and jarringly painful. Yet, at the same time, it was warm and blissfully welcome. Effortlessly slicing through years and years of immense self-control and dark loneliness, this sweet experience seemed to forge an unbreakable kinship.

§Yesssss….ssssweet….sssssoul…..curioussss….little….ssssssoul….§ The shard cooed quietly, his newly awakened consciousness shuddering in delight at the insatiable yearning that was stirred within him. He wanted to claim this child, to possess it and make it his. He wanted it. No, he needed it. He needed this soothing gentleness… To break it… Mould it… Love it… Shatter it… To twine it and watch as they spiralled in a blasphemous dance where no one could tell where he began and the other ended.

Yessss, this soul; his littlesoul that was so much younger in innocence than any first-year, pressing against him with such cloying need. He could tell the child was barely over eleven, perhaps his innocence made him even younger than that. He was untouched by humanity's darkness and greed, not a single indication of selfish hedonism children often displayed. Yet, deep down, the boy vibrated with a magnificent hatred for the world. There was a desperate need to belong so dark that bitter sorrow already curled a possessive claw into a black little heart.

It was like looking into a mirror of Tom Marvolo Riddle's soul at age six, a perfect duplicate of the vulnerable helplessness that had nearly broken him in the orphanage. Echoing the desperation that gave rise to his inherent sadism, he had risen above the ashes of his ruination as the vengeful snake he was today. Even now, he still remorselessly sought to poison all those daring enough to feast upon the carcass of his dereliction.

§So precioussss…§ He crooned; allowing bloodied, crimson eyes, to flutter open for the first time in forty-or-so some years. Materialising in the form of a full coloured spectre on a bed of snowy white frost, the Room of Hidden Things darkened instinctively at his presence as he stood at an imposing hundred-and-eighty-three centimeter frame behind an equally small child.

The boy looked no more than eight, even when his robes denoted him as an undeniable first year. Yet, he never once seemed to shy away from the spectre's dark presence behind him. He was utterly entranced by the shimmering diadem in his hands, almost as if he himself had just discovered the entire world.

Silently, soothingly, they felt it. It was a touching of two complimentary personalities, a Polaris of intimacies and open acceptance.

The boy smiled joyously for the first time in many years.

With hair as black as midnight, impish curls fell haphazardly across a pale, lightning marred, forehead as stray strands feathered playfully across rounded cheeks. Stubbornly yet insistently defying the laws of gravity, the dark locks carefully framed round rimmed spectacles and shielded the child's vulnerability from the world.

§Beautiful…§ Tom Riddle hissed appreciatively, eagerly tasting the hint of despair that lingered upon his tongue. He could tell the boy suffered, probably viciously at the hands of those meant to protect him. It was truly idiotic, he thought. How could anyone not see the glimmering gem that was before them? No matter, a sly smirk curled the corner of pale lips as it ignited an insatiable avarice in the depths of crimson orbs.

§Sssuch a rarity, sssweet child. Where did you come from?§ The words slipped from his lips in an awed prayer. He was not expecting his question would be answered, however. He was the only one capable of understanding parseltongue, after all. Yet, he still hoped the unknown tongue would coax the little one into turning around to face him.

§I-I'm sssory, I —.§ Frozen in absolute surprise when a small hundred-and-thirty-eight centimetre frame whirled around to stare up at him with awe, a hiss of pure delight rolled eagerly from within as glowing Avada Kedavra green orbs locked curiously with crimson red. They were utterly breathtaking, he mused. Reflecting the perfect match to his favourite curse. The dark entity nearly stumbled in shock, however, when a breathy whisper of parseltongue drifted between lush, petal, pink lips.

§I didn't mean to disssturb you, sssir. I-I jusssst wanted to find a place to hide. And…and then I found thisss pretty crown. I—.§

§Diadem, child.§ He corrected automatically. Gracefully falling to his knee in front of his new found treasure; long, spidery, fingertips reached out to brush across a sweetly flushed cheek. He was gazing deeply into the depths of green eyes, swiftly analysing and cataloguing the multitude of emotions reflected there. He could not help but smile at the inherent warmth swiftly speeding towards him.

He did not care if he was carving icy fear into the child's heated core, or startling him with such a cold touch. In fact, he revelled in the slight shivers he could produce. He had found exactly what he had been looking for, a companion to stand by his side.

§Husssh, young one. I ssshall never harm you.§ He vowed.

Waiting patiently for distressed breaths to ease under his caress, he briefly pondered the beauty of the complex puzzle before him. The spectre was not the main soul, merely a piece of the whole. Yet, he had been stirred to life so vividly that his consciousness was completely clear. Just what sort of power did this young one possess?

§Hmm…tell me. What'sss your name, little one?§

§H-H-Ha-Harry Potter§ The nervous stutter was not missed by the older wizard, an amused glint of teeth glimmering beneath the transparency of his form as he ignored the snowy surface he stood upon. It wasn't cold, yet he knew his presence must be somewhat unsettling for a first year. Elegantly folding long legs beneath him to lower his imposing height, he beckoned the child to join him without hesitation.

§I sssee. Hello, Harry Potter.§

§You may call me Marvolo. Tell me, just how did you end up in the Room of Hidden Things?§ And just like that, Harry seated himself on a surprisingly soft surface as he unconsciously leaned into the warm familiarity the spectre gave off. Absently curling his arms around raised knees, he smiled happily as he remained unafraid of the misty, ghost-like, entity. He felt warm, dark and safe instead…almost as if the older wizard would forever protect him.

Shivering softly as he was forced to tell of the furious and cruel chase his housemates had lead him on, curious green eyes lingered interestedly on several towering pillars that littered the cathedral-like room. Small, first year, fingers were trailing absently over the ancient headdress Marvolo called a diadem. His attention completely captivated by the soft, gentle pulses that still flickered periodically beneath his fingertips.

Completely unaware of the shivers his unintentional touches provoked, vivid crimson eyes stared intently at the small form sitting so openly beside him. The very air seemed to roil with rising electricity, a dark and heady protective magic surging forth from within the Horcrux as it shamelessly reached out to claim the sweet innocence coiled so sinfully around him.

There was a brief but notable warmth skittering across the child's skin, whispering of an ancient binding ritual of souls strong enough to suffocate any and all protests from the light-oriented objects around them. Marvolo had already decided Harry Potter was his. He absolutely refused to give him up, not even in a quest to gain a body or more freedom for himself.

Yes, he had many other plans for this child.

A sinister smile bloomed openly across hauntingly beautiful features; prompting long, spidery fingers to card tenderly through temptingly soft, messy, black curls. This child would be no one but his.

...

Harry James Potter always knew he was different, had always known. Even in the beautiful and eccentric world of witchcraft and wizardry he recently discovered, there was something fundamentally wrong with his psychological makeup. No matter how many times he had been dragged off to church by his relatives to cleanse his 'soul' of the devil or preached to by vile, disgusting, priests that he was looming on the precipice of a fire and brimstone hell. He simply did not know how to be 'normal'.

Whether it was because he yearned to have someone understand him or because he was simply a demon in the flesh of a human, fate had already branded him cruel enough so no form of child-like wonder ever touched his heart. Thus, he had grown up in a household where he was systematically belittled, cast aside and punished to live in dark, dank, cupboard under the stairs. No one had ever had the decency to instill within him any form of psychological empathy, sympathy or how to emulate the core emotions of humanity.

With the Dursley's so desperate to stamp out his magic at a young age, they had unwittingly nurtured an emotionally apathetic child that took great pleasure in tearing the wings from butterflies and mounting them on the walls of his cupboard. Not to mention, gleefully tormenting his spoiled, pig of a cousin with vivid night terrors when he tried to bully him.

It had been during the long, tedious, hours trapped in his cupboard that Harry had first come to know the soothing warmth thrumming magnetically beneath his skin. His power had become his only escape during those times, a small beacon of hope in the eternal darkness. No one was yet to know he had been able to actively mould his magic to his will since he was seven. They could never prove it was him that simultaneously broke the bones of his bullies at school or conjured the violent poltergeist that was bound to the Dursley's home for an entire month after his eleventh birthday.

He still smiled at the memory of his aunt's hysterical screams the morning it tried to drown her in the bathtub. Even his uncle had become too fearful to approach his cupboard since then. Why they ever thought they had the right to punish him for accepting his rightful attendance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry would never understand.

Their minds were idiotically stupid. He had already shown them, brutally, several times that he would never be the obedient little slave they thought to mould throughout his childhood. It only served them right that they were now afraid of him, especially after he had learnt the truth. Those disgusting maggots had concealed his rightful heritage from him out of spite, a slight he would never, ever, forgive. His suffering would be repaid in full, one day.

Yet, even here at Hogwarts, Harry learnt he was not normal. No one else seemed to be able to control their magic without a wand like he could, nor did they understand how he never reacted when his parents' deaths were brought up as callous taunts. He felt absolutely no attachment when he thought of them, perhaps there was a small twinge of curiosity blooming in him at what it would have been like to grow up in a 'normal' wizarding family. Yet, it wasn't the emotion he was supposed to have been feeling.

The sorting hat had told him quite conspiratorially: 'You have a truly curious and extraordinary mind, Mr Potter. Even those desperate to influence the power you will one day wield; you have the capacity to stand by your ideals without compromise. I can already tell your path to greatness.'

'There was one other just like you sorted beneath my brim many decades ago. A complex child with a view on the world very similar to yours. So better be — SLYTHERIN.'

That was the day Harry Potter learned Slytherins were the supposed harbingers of evil. They were snakes in the grass, seen as a threat to the rest of humanity. Yet, why he was now ostracized by the self-righteous pricks of Gryffindor, instinctively feared by Hufflepuffs or even snubbed by the supposedly superior Raveclaws; Harry had no idea.

This was supposed to be a school of magic, a place of learning. Reality was never written in black and white. There was no such thing as good and evil or right and wrong, it was all subjective to the individual. So why this incessant need for group mentality? What was it that drove them to act like shameless cockroaches swarming with no thought? Even his own house, supposedly superior in intellect and ambition, was no different.

The Ancient and Noble House of Salazar Slytherin was far too preoccupied by a single event that happened a decade ago to this day. What did it mean that he supposedly vanquished the Dark Lord with a rebounding Killing Curse? It seemed terribly stupid to him, he was more interested in the magic it took kill an individual with one spell. Just how did it work? Did it hurt the person on the receiving end or was it a quick and painless death?

If it was, he was suitably satisfied his parents had not suffered.

'It's too complicated to understand,' Harry bemoaned irritably, his movements fluid and graceful as he slipped away from the Room of Hidden Things. The last few hours he spent in the company of Marvolo, were undoubtedly the best of his school year so far. The older man came to mean a great deal to Harry in a surprisingly short amount of time, especially since he never really trusted anyone before.

It was like the spectre truly understood Harry, not the person the world wanted him to be or the supposed hero. But the small, vindictive, child that liked pulling the wings off butterflies and watching them squirm as learned everything he could about curious curses and jinxes only explored in sixth year textbooks.

With passing time however, it was getting closer and closer to the end of the Halloween Feast. Harry had been very reluctant to leave his new friend behind. When he told Marvolo he didn't want to go, the red eyed wizard had merely smiled at him before pointing towards a beautiful onyx jewellery box settled on the table before them.

'Pick it up, Harry.' Carved from a wood that bordered just shy of black, the prominent rectangular lid moved and swirled together in the shape of two beautiful serpents as they coiled together around a large black opal. The warded lock; in the shape of a cobra head, had hissed at him curiously before abruptly sprouting fangs and sinking into his flesh.

'Place the diadem inside, Harry.' Marvolo urged as the lock retracted and clicked open with a creak. Revealing an opulent black, velvet, surface within. 'It acts as an anchor for my soul. If you always keep my vessel with you, I can protect and stay by your side.'

'You will never have to be alone again.' With the box warded against thievery and turned partially invisible by enchantments, Marvolo had explained that the blood he offered the guardian ward acted as a binding tether to his magical signature. Now, only he or Marvolo himself would be able to open it.

After hearing that no one would be able to take his friend away from him, it was an exuberant eleven-year-old that raced all too excitedly through the halls of Hogwarts. Clutched protectively against his chest was a warm jewellery box as he practically skipped his way to the dungeons.

With a very special wand clutched in his right hand for protection; vibrant green eyes flicked restlessly through the torch lit passageways as he traipsed the twisted labyrinth hidden beneath the school. The castle was strangely empty for being so close to curfew, he thought. Even though he was undeterred, he still slipped inside the common room quiet as a snake.

How odd, though. The remaining students seemed to be having another feast in the common room. Several of the upper years were glaring at him as he walked past, no doubt hating the fact that he managed to hide himself away from their attempts to curse him. But he mostly ignored their unwanted scrutiny, deeming them far too beneath his notice. He only briefly listened to the furious whispers echoing through the room, something concerning a troll in the first floor girl's bathroom that some Gryffindors tried but failed to subdue.

He snickered quietly, cold fingertips curling more securely around the warmth of his friend's hidden vessel as he felt Marvolo's distinctive magical aura hum in agreement with him. With nothing more to say to his housemates, Harry quietly walked towards the dorm room he shared with Blaise Zabini as he settled himself on his bed.

Absently closing the dark, emerald green, hangings around him; the large four-poster bed dipped softly beneath him as a well-practiced movement placed his glasses on the bedside table next to him. Slipping exhaustedly beneath the warm sheets, the small first-year settled his beloved jewellery box next to him on the pillow as he decided being different wasn't so bad.

If he had been normal, he would never have met Marvolo. Nor would he ever have learnt what it felt like to be content in the presence of another.

'Good night, Marvolo.' He whispered quietly. Giggling softly in delight when an answering 'Sweet dreams, Little Serpent' echoed through his mind.


	2. Chapter 1: Blistering Eclipse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I managed to finish the first chapter, my Honeys! Thank you so much for your positive feedback on this story, it means the world to me. Please keep in mind that the warnings are listed in the Prologue's Author's Note, I don't want to keep posting it on repeat.
> 
> I've decided to write slightly shorter chapters so that there can be more updates, quicker. However, I will currently be working on 2 Voldemort x Harry Potter stories, the other of which will be posted in a week or so's time after I've had time to finish the Prologue as it is an adopted story.
> 
> For now though, I'll turn this one over to you. I do hope that it'll live up to your expectations.

***

'11 inches, Grenadilla (African Blackwood), phoenix feather core. Finely flexible.'

Representing the harmonious duality that existed between the spiritual and physical realms, the delicately crafted eleven inch wand was a stunning contrast to the Dark Lord's own thirteen-and-a-half inch bone-white yew wand. Made from a divergent purple wood so deep in colour it could be mistaken for black, the superbly carved handle shimmered appropriately with the likes of a lacquered turquoise and emerald butterfly wing.

Gifted a single feather from the very same phoenix as his own; two perfectly complimentary wands had been forged into existence by Ollivander's skilful hands. One, as black as the burnt out sun, that belonged to his Little Serpent and the other as white as a moon made of bone…

Absently balancing dark wood upon the pads of long, spidery fingers; deeply contemplative crimson eyes stared longingly at the dew kissed grass encompassing the Black Lake outside. The hauntingly familiar sight of Hogwarts' grounds; alive and shifting to the coming winter, was a blessing Marvolo had not thought to witness for a very long time.

Seated comfortably on a windowsill at the very back of the library, the touch of cool glass against his temple was jarringly cold as the surrounding bookshelves conveniently cocooned his sighs of pleasure in unbreakable silence. Only the occasional scratch of his young charge's quill across parchment as he hurried to finish his homework, was daring enough to shatter their sanctified stillness.

Brushing back a lock of deep mahogany brown that fell out of its elegantly parted style; perfectly fitted midnight black robes shifted fluidly at the miniscule movement as an unexpected shiver of awareness chased frantically up the spectre's spine. His manifestation was distinctly odd at times, likened to the existence of a ghost that only young Harry Potter seemed to be able to see.

And, Marvolo conjectured, the main soul piece and other Horcruxes.

The only difference he had to a mere spectre was the portion of magic he could control and the influence he had over corporeal objects. He was completely undetectable to the living, leaving behind only a fine layer of frost whenever he was consciously or unconsciously reaching towards the dark ambience swirling within his vessel.

Harry told him once, quite seriously, that his magic felt like starbursts of roiling thunder. Instilling a hair raising awe throughout the atmosphere that left behind a dark, almost bitter, undertaste of obscurity. And as it lashed lazily through dancing air molecules, it unconsciously linked together the magnetic force needed for a spectacularly destructive storm.

That was the first time Tom Marvolo Riddle had ever heard his magic described like poetry, not the usual 'terrifying', 'horrible' and 'dark' most sane people would utter.

Allowing a self-satisfied smirk to curl across ghostly pale lips, the older entity felt oddly flattered by those words. In the presence of the Dark Lord Voldemort, others usually had no choice but to feel utterly terrified. He so loved wielding pure destruction and dominion over their puny little minds. Yet this child, merely eleven and still so sweetly innocent, stood unafraid in his presence and absolutely loved it. If that was not an indication of how perfectly their souls coiled together, Marvolo didn't know what was.

Shifting half-lidded eyes towards the small figure sitting a few meters away from him, bloodied crimson orbs brightened in pure amusement as his Little Serpent struggled to make sense of his frantic scribbles that now reached half across the parchment and half across the table.

Harry was indeed a peculiar child, even if it had only been a few weeks since their first encounter. The little one hardly ever spoke aloud to others, completely deeming their existence unworthy of his attention. And as a result, it had borne a soft, fay-like voice that now always whispered sweetly in his new found friend's ear.  
Shamelessly offering the Horcrux all his attention, Harry didn't even seem to mind that Marvolo took advantage of his childlike devotion. Their more serious connection, however; stemmed from the similarity of their pasts. The flippant way Harry described the horrors he suffered at the hands of his relatives, often led to the older wizard's unrepentant, rampaging, fury. He despised that he could not do anything as was, even when he was quite proud to learn that his Little Serpent gifted them back the abuse ten-fold whenever he could.

No one, he vowed to himself that day. Absolutely no one would ever lay a hand on his sweet little soul! They had no right to touch him…to even look at what was his!  
Biting back the deadly snarl that built steadily in his chest, rage-darkened crimson eyes swiftly turned away from his current musings as he slowly but steadily sought to calm the enraged crackles darkening his magic. The very air was becoming thick with flawless command, prompting haunting Avada Kedavra green eyes to look up from a vast spread of creamy parchment.

'It's alright, little one.' Marvolo reassured with a wave of his hand, the eleven-year-old Slytherin nodding his understanding before a tiny, shy, smile blossomed across lush petal pink lips. It was an expression that was going to be the death of the soul shard one day, he was absolutely convinced.

Harry may have been unusually intelligent for his age, but he still couldn't quite seem to grasp emotions and their origins in others. One of the many reasons he was so shunned in his House. Yet, as one of the expression that his friend had come to treasure beyond his apathetic derision, he only ever showed it to Marvolo when no one else was around.

The two of them understood each other on a soul-deep level, they were perfect mirror reflections of one another. Yet, at the same time, there was a vast difference between them. Where Tom Riddle had learnt to imitate emotion and effortlessly charm his way around adults at a young age, Harry Potter had not yet had the opportunity to flourish. He simply had no idea the power he held in his tiny hands, nor how easily he could make the world bow beneath his feet.

He was perfectly content to keep existing in a sadistic world of his own creation and remaining by his friend's side for eternity. It was truly a shame that no one could see the dark potential teeming within his small, hundred-and-thirty-eight centimeter frame. Marvolo could already see just how far his Little Serpent would grow under the correct tutelage.

His tutelage, he smirked to himself.

The listless shard had already promised to make Harry Potter intimately aware of the beautiful ins and outs of the Dark Arts. Many were too prejudiced and afraid to tangle themselves in such a wilful seduction at such a young age, making it even less likely that an eleven-year-old would be able to wield the power like a well-honed blade. But Marvolo was convinced that Harry would succeed.

Yesss, his Little Serpent definitely possessed the power, strength and determination for the Arts' delicate complexities. It was all there…in the intricate flexibility of his Grenadilla wand, the brilliant mind he kept so successfully hidden behind large, round rimmed, spectacles and the impish cruelty that twisted so childishly through his still innocent, yet, beautifully blackened soul.

§Sssssimply perfect.§ He hissed with pure satisfaction, the cool touch of African Blackwood brushing up against his knuckles one by one as he elegantly twirled the wand between long, graceful, fingertips. Its weight was a welcome reprieve to his swirling thoughts, his magic slowly measuring its core against his own power as it sang delightedly at the pure allegiance it found there.

Harry's wand was indeed just as responsive to him as his own. They could easily swap without much consequence.

Even if this wand didn't have quite the same familiarity as his yew wand, it would do wonders if he ever needed to protect his little one. The green sparks skittering excitedly from the tip in answer, offered more than enough control to its second chosen owner to cast his most loved spells. Crucio…Avada Kedavra…Fiendfyre...

Oh, how Marvolo yearned to watch the world beneath his feet simply devoured by flame and screams. To direct ceaseless oceans of basilisks and fiery beasts to cull the dirty masses and satiate the insatiable bloodlust heating his veins—.

Startling from his thoughts at the sound of footsteps approaching their little hidden alcove at the back of the library, the dark haired being rose from his seat with an astonishing amount of grace as he came to a decisive halt behind Harry's chair. Resting long fingers on a black and green robed shoulder, a fluid bow forward allowed the placement of a borrowed wand by the boy's rightful fingertips.

'It's time to go.' He whispered quietly, a restrictive and unusual tension coiling heavily against the Horcrux's limbs. The approaching presence felt oddly familiar. Yet, at the same time, the magic was distinctly blocked off. It was almost like the wielder had placed immensely strong Occlumency shields around his core to prevent any and all forms of recognition.

Having come across this sensation a few times in the past few weeks, Marvolo sometimes discerned another sort of recognition stirring up the depths of his soul. Yet, whenever he came close enough to breach an answer; it would slip away from his consciousness without another word. It was utterly frustrating—.

'Harry,' His voice suddenly hardened with warning, long fingers tugging insistently at impish black curls as the younger wizard whined softly at his touch. He didn't protest, though; merely obediently packing away his homework. Keeping Marvolo's attention split between his young charge and their surroundings, intense crimson orbs soon trailed thoughtfully towards the edge of the bookshelf that concealed them from the rest of the library.

It wasn't like anyone would easily find this place, he reassured himself. It had already been long forgotten in the annals of time by the time he—.

There were only a few seconds to steel himself as the outline of a familiar figure soon rounded the corner. The distinctive form of the Defence of the Dark Arts Professor, trailing curious fingers across the spines of several ancient tombs was a shock to his system. Those usually terrified, averted, muddy brown eyes; glinted with otherworldly intensity as they landed thoughtfully on Harry Potter.

Freezing in surprise as they flickered to the child's right, they openly traced the spectre's distinct tall, frame with bewildered curiosity. There was a few milliseconds in which Marvolo swore a subtle tinge of scarlet seeped passed dark brown irises and coloured dull eyes a brilliant mirror of his own before flickering dazedly back to itself—.

'Good morning, Professor Quirrell.' Harry's soft voice suddenly interrupted, affectively shattering the tension that had been building between the adults as the small first year shifted nervously closer to his eternal companion. Small fingers were unconsciously reaching for Marvolo's sleeve in search of comfort, he really did not like talking to others.

'G-g-g-good m-m-mor-morning M-Mister P-p-potter.' The Professor suddenly replied, seeming to shake off the unusual occurrence with a bewildered blink and small smile. 'O-o-off to b-breakfast, eh?'

'Yes, sir.' Harry smiled softly. 'Have a good day, Professor.' Glancing at the tall man through coal black lashes, expressionless features soon shifted back into place as absent fingers resituated slipping spectacles up his nose. His Defence Professor felt a little different than all the adults he had encountered, he thought with a little smile.

Sometimes Harry swore that the magic coiling through the man's class, felt similar but much deeper and darker than Marvolo's. It held that same acquiesce of dominion, that quiet thrumming of roiling lightning before the storm. Yet, whenever Professor Quirrell used magic as a demonstration, there was something tainted and ugly spread within it. It was almost like the magic was deliberately sealed off from the world, lacking in the pure taste that Marvolo's power contained.

'A-a-nd to y-you, M-Mr. P-P-Potter.' Completely missing the intrigued glance shared above his head, the young Slytherin nodded his goodbyes as he moved away at the behest of his friend. There were only a few moments of silence before a distinct drop in temperature signified Marvolo's return to the diadem. There was a welcoming brush trailing gently over his mind seconds later, a subtle reminder he was not alone as small but steady footsteps headed towards the Great Hall for breakfast.

...

'What was that, Marvolo? Did something happen?' Harry whispered quietly behind his hand, wishing desperately not to startle his friend from the somewhat unsettled and agitated mood he had settled into. The only other time he had felt such a feeling coming from Marvolo, only at a much more dangerous level, was the first time he had told his friend of the events concerning his parents' death and the reason why his housemates seemed to hate him so much.

'Marvolo?'

'It's alright, Harry.' A soothing, clear voice echoed through his mind. 'Remember to talk through your thoughts, little one. We don't need unnecessary attention questioning your sanity.'

'O-okay. I'm sorry—.'

'Don't apologize, Little Serpent. Not when there's nothing to be sorry for.' Nodding courteously in response, determined green eyes flicked up from the floor to observe the near empty Great Hall around him with new found confidence. Marvolo had always said that he should walk with poised grace, facing the world with straightened shoulders and undetectable emotions. There was no need to show the sometimes rampant insecurities that whispered through his veins.

'Anyways. I'm not exactly sure what happened. Maybe…maybe there is a piece of my soul influencing your Professor. But I cannot tell for sure. It was too quick to distinguish anything. Just be cautious when you are around him, Harry. I don't want you to get hurt.' Frowning in confusion at those words, Harry just couldn't quite imagine that any part of his friend would ever want to harm him. Professor Quirrell himself was usually nice, if not unusually terrified of everything in class, when he got something right.

He was not at all like the greasy haired, Professor Snape that hated him with a passion. Now if Marvolo had said that he should be careful of his Head of House, he would never have even looked at the man again. But Professor Quirrell was different, he felt—.

'Right. Let's leave that there, I swear to Merlin that danger can knock you on the forehead and you still wouldn't notice, Little Serpent.' Huffing in indignation at those words, a brief furrow wrinkled perfectly shaped black brows as the teen settled himself a little closer to the centre of the Slytherin table that morning. He didn't feel like being cast out by his housemates because of some stupid rule.

'Remember to eat,' Marvolo reminded him sternly. 'Don't just stare at the food like last time.' Snickering in remembrance at his friend's long lecture the day he decided to skip dinner, mirthful green eyes strayed briefly towards the head table in search of the Professor they had been talking about as he filled his plate with as much food as he could manage. Biting back the immediate scowl that wanted to crease his forehead however, the moment glaring onyx eyes and sneering lips trained on him, Harry ducked his in unrestrained fury.

'Why does he keep staring at me like that?! It's infuriating!'

'I feel your pain have, little one. But he won't live much longer, trust me. Much less, in fact, if he tries to brush against our minds one more time.' The dark promise that underlined Marvolo's usual calm voice, sent a delighted thrill dancing down Harry's spine as a shy smile curled across the corner of soft, petal, pink lips.  
Just how did the older wizard always know exactly what to say to make him feel better?

Peacefully completing his morning meal without noticing the hall fill around him, the easy lull in their routine was only broken by intermittent, internal, conversation as the younger of the two didn't even look up as his classmates settled on the bench next to him half an hour later. There was no need to pay anyone else attention, after all. Especially not since Marvolo was currently telling him of an interesting ritual he had found on his travels abroad.

At Draco Malfoy's sneered: "Just what do you think you are doing, Potter? You don't have permission to sit here." The smaller first year merely pushed his empty plate aside in irritated annoyance and raised an enquiring brow at the blonde's rude interruption.

'I don't need you or anyone telling me where to sit, Malfoy. A House is a House, not a kingdom. Surely not your kingdom, either. I don't think you have the balls to rule. Neither you, or any of the upper years in this school.' Feeling his companion's quiet laughter ring near deafeningly in the back of his mind, Harry couldn't stop the amused smirk that coloured his features at the blonde's spluttering, red-faced embarrassment as he gathered his books and stepped out of the Great Hall without another word.

'Really, Harry Potter. I did tell you to interact more with your peers. But to cause such trouble at every turn… it's simply priceless.' Harry wasn't sure exactly what he did to provoke such amusement from his friend, but he quickly curbed the curiosity just to listen to the laughter instead. Marvolo didn't show many emotions beyond rage, smug accomplishment and cool collectiveness. But when he did, it sprang forth in such clear, beautiful sounds that the little first year didn't ever want it to stop.  
It always made something warm and bubbly settle deep in the pit of his stomach, a feeling that he had not experienced many times in his life. And certainly not at such intense levels as it was now. Perhaps it was the sensation of 'happiness'?

'That was the most I spoke to anyone in my year, before.' Harry said with awed realization. 'I don't see what I said wrong. Why couldn't I sit where I wanted for breakfast?'

'I sometimes forget just how naïve you sometimes are.' The older being mused. 'Slytherins have a hierarchal system, Harry. The strongest student in the House has always had unspoken dominion over the lowly dregs. Because you are seen as either a threat or too weak to defend yourself against them, they have decided to cast you aside.'

'But—.'

'Let me finish, little one.' Marvolo warned. 'You are expected to adhere to their orders no matter the situation. Thus the reason why young Mr Malfoy (the supposed highest ranked in your year), told you off for sitting where you were. The little bastard was merely seeking to establish his rule over you.'

'I'm not weak, Marvolo.' Harry protested being told what to do for most of his life by shitty relatives and disgusting maggots, Harry had long since decided he would bathe in the blood and entrails of anyone bold enough to try and order him around again. He absolutely refused to debase himself for anyone's amusement! It was—.

'Calm yourself, Little Serpent.' A soothing voice crooned softly. 'With such a vivid imagination, I would simply love to pick you apart myself.' Causing a distraught flush to creep across hauntingly pale cheeks, the incensed eleven-year-old soon felt his anger drain from him as he ducked his head in embarrassment.

'Always remember that they are worth nothing to you, Harry.' Marvolo reassured. 'I am the only one that should ever matter to you, no one else. We are the same, my sweet Little Serpent. Our strength and power will one day be equal. Therefore, you are far more powerful than a pitiful child with a rich daddy and simpering mother.'

'One day, just you watch. One day they will all crawl on the floor begging for scraps of your attention.' Gripping his bag tighter in answer, Harry raised his head in decisive grace. Marvolo was right. He did not need anyone or anything else, only his friend and the ability to expand his magic. Slytherin could either cast him aside or bow before him, yet their fates would one day be held in his very hands.

Then they would see, oh, they he would see just who was daring enough to try and make him bow.

'That's the spirit, little one.'

'Now, remember to pay close attention to your classes. I won't be taking you out to the Forbidden Forest for your first lesson in the Dark Arts on Friday if you fail.' Silently accepting those terms, the young Slytherin settled himself at a desk in the front of the charms classroom as he read through his notes one last time to make sure he had all his spells memorised. He had sworn that he would make his friend proud in whatever it was that he did, nothing else would matter ever again.

Midnight was fast approaching with darkened despair, a heady black fog settling low across the grounds of the Forbidden Forest as the beginning of December froze iridescent white across the ancient, but rarely transversed, woods. Trembling and swaying beneath the magical might of a dark new moon, the last gates of the living and the dead was slowly but surely opening up to well-worn, blackened, gloom.

A small figure, dressed in a pitch black robe with a silver fur-lined cowl pulled low over vivid Avada Kedavra green eyes; trailed excitedly behind his tall, ghostly, companion. He was eagerly observing every dip in gnarled tree roots, every shift of movement rustling through dead leaves as the forest instinctively skittered away from the Horcrux's overwhelmingly oppressive presence.

Ensconced in the light of seven fiery-blue spheres, a perfectly formed heptagram was spinning lazy anti-clockwise patterns around the two interlopers as the barely shimmering illumination struggled to push back against the all-encompassing night. Marvolo had said that the Forbidden Forest was once upon a time the fuel for Hogwarts' wards, a fact that meant students were essentially welcome if they knew how to approach the ancient woodlands correctly.

In order for them to tread upon sacred soil without torment, they had to make their intent clear that no harm would come to the residents hidden here and ground their existence by walking barefoot across the grounds. With no barrier to halt the exchange of power between the earth and their magical cores, they were essentially yielding themselves to the natural darkness that existed here.

It was but the first step in accepting the Dark Arts.

Smiling with devious delight at the ritual they were preparing to perform that night, Harry hurriedly skipped after Marvolo's longer and more confident strides. The pitch black darkness was roiling unsteadily around them, swallowing up and spitting out heady sensations that were difficult to describe as the eternal moonless sky refused to acquiesce its hold to even a single source of preternatural illumination.

It was simply perfect, bare feet keeping stubbornly silent as the two midnight walkers entered a small clearing not too far into the thicket. Small fingers were curling hesitantly around the back of the darker entity's robes however, wavering slightly in fear as intense crimson eyes glanced over a regal shoulder to reassure the young one of his unwavering presence.

Marvolo seemed completely at ease here in the darkness; his regal, aristocratic, features setting him apart from those of common birth as ghostly pale skin shimmered like the moon on a blistering cold night. And those red, red, eyes; framed in perfectly parted mahogany strands, seemed to sear a heated fire right through the very depths of Harry's soul. It was like looking straight into scorching hell-fire, a terrifying yet utterly mesmerising sight...

'Nnng…Marvolo, I—.'

'It'll be alright, Harry. I'm right here.' The older wizard reassured softly, his deeply soothing timbre calling out for the expansion of their protective seven-point fire ward as it encompassed the clearing in a large, fifty meter, ritual circle. Dyeing unseen snow and grass a shimmering, iridescent, blue; the slow mystic vibrations present in the air soon pricked to life with vivid intensity.

The older wizard was tracing a further few patterns with the tip of a black Grenadilla wand, effortlessly erecting proximity and silencing wards that no one would be able to circumvent without the use of parseltongue. It was but a small compensation for the young one's unsettled anxiety before he started the ritual.

'Ignis Vitae!' Instantly conjuring up a brilliant flash of white fire in the centre of the circle, the newly kindled flames crackled and danced with heliotropic madness as it boldly chased away the thickened blackness blotting out the very skies. Passing the comforting wand back to its original owner, the older Slytherin came to stand behind Harry's smaller frame as he smirked at the now unconcealed excitement burningly brilliantly within emerald green eyes.

'Remember what I taught you, Little Serpent.' He drawled in a sensual whisper, the coldness of his breath brushing tantalizingly against the shell of a small ear. 'The ritual requires no words or wands. It is the Dark Arts in its most simplistic form, flames fuelled by sacrificial intent. This fire, Ignis Vitae, or 'fire-for-life', can only be satiated by a willing sacrifice drawn here by your magic.'

'In reward for the nourishment you provide it, the flames will eventually grant you a significant power boost to any dark spell you wish to cast during the next moon cycle.' Nodding his head in understanding at those words, Harry allowed glowing verdant green eyes to flutter shut behind long, sooty, black lashes as he hazily reached for a tendril of magic coiled possessively tight around his churning core.

The grounding sensation of large hands resting comfortably on his shoulders, further lulled his magic to the surface as a meditative consciousness reached tentatively outwards for a willing sacrifice. A heady sensation was soon singing hypnotically across the surface of pale skin, the shuddering pleasure completely encompassing two complimentary souls with the sound of a bitter-sweet siren song as a small but noticeable jerk tempted forth something deep within the forest.

Quick to send out a pulse of calm appreciation, Harry didn't dare open his eyes for next ten minutes as he worked hard to keep his magic soft and coaxingly sweet. Small pearls of sweat were beading unappreciatively across his brow, a shuddering bliss curling tightly in the pit of his stomach as the sound of several hundred dry wings suddenly broke through the fiery barrier.

Finally parting pale eyelids to observe the effects his magic had wrought, brilliant Avada Kedavra green eyes glowed with stunned amazement the moment an eclipse of dusky, white, moths swarmed unafraid towards the Ignis fire. A slow but macabre dance to the death soon followed, brilliant white fire curling welcomingly across moonlike wings as the unforgiving heat completely devoured hundreds of chittering and humming insects.

It was pure silence in the face of their last soliloquy, an entire forty minutes ticking by where neither wizard dared to breathe a single word as enraptured eyes observed the scene with silent awe. So willingly they fell to the kiss of flame, dying in brilliant embers of life as an unparalleled beauty transcended the clearing that night.

A wild flush of excitement was dusting delicately pale cheeks, young Harry Potter laughing for the first time with childish whimsy as his entire world was reborn in a shade of blackened beauty. With dark pleasure still arcing across the pads of fingertips, Marvolo's presence constantly at his back had become his only anchor to reality.

'So beautiful,' He giggled reverently, instinctively leaning more fully into the fierce embrace curling around his shoulders as Marvolo pulled him flush against a larger body. The intimate position coiling them together chest-to-chest, only added to the young one's consuming joy as he loosely gripped his wand in his right hand and tilted his head back to look into brilliant crimson orbs.

They were darkening to a deep blood red in possessive desire, the slitted pupils sparking with newly kindled flames of pride as a smug smirk danced contentedly across pale lips. The young first year was whispering a quiet but meaningful 'thank you', suddenly fighting back an overwhelming sting of pain watering his eyes as small fingers curled tightly in ghostly black fabric and buried his forehead against a warm abdomen.

It felt so good, he thought to himself absently. But why did his chest felt so tight? Even with the humming sense of belonging that curled so welcomingly in the very depths of his soul, Harry was desperately afraid that someone was going to rip away this happiness simply for being a bad child. He had sworn to himself that he would never again be separated from Marvolo, he finally had the power to overcome the painful burden of being so utterly alone in his pain and suffering. Yet, he was afraid…so desperately afraid—.

'Marvolo…' A hitched sob cried out with broken despair, a sudden and overwhelming flood of emotions opening up within a strained soul as a small kiss of compensation tickled softly across the top of his head.

'Well done, my sweet Little Serpent.' A gentle voice breathed against impish midnight curls, prompting the younger first year to settle himself shamelessly on the soul shard's lap as they sat down together. Warm and gentle fingertips were carding through dark black locks a few times before a cool forehead came to rest against Harry's scarred one. The distressingly silent chest absent of a heartbeat beneath his palm however, reminded the teen that his friend wasn't really alive in that moment.

He was merely a shard of the whole, a piece to ensure immortality—. Burning saline drops were slipping unbidden down flushed cheeks, causing a rare gentleness to soften usually merciless crimson orbs as the pads of soft fingers came up to swipe away the dirty tracks left behind.

'Now just what brought this on, hmm?' Marvolo asked with a soft sigh. 'You performed the ritual absolutely perfectly, Harry. I'm so very proud of you. So why are you crying, little one? It's the first time you've ever showed me such terrible emotion.' Flinching softly at those softly reprimanding words, the Slytherin buried his nose against a ghostly shoulder as he took several shuddering breaths to silence his swirling distress.

'S-sorry…I-I just realized you're n-not really alive, M-Marvolo. And I want you to—.'

'Ah, I see.' The older wizard interrupted quietly, seeming to understand exactly what his younger counterpart was struggling to say. He wouldn't be surprised if his Little Serpent was confused by his emotions at the moment.

'There's no need for such sadness, Harry.' He confirmed reassuringly. 'I already promised you that you would never be alone, child. Don't ever forget that.'  
'I'm not in the habit of breaking my promises, even in death.' A quiet chuckle of irony drifted past pale lips. 'I may not be 'alive' technically right now, yes. But remember what I told you of my main soul piece? He too is still out there, no doubt searching for a way to resurrect himself. Just like him, I too can be resurrected at the right point in time.'

'That point in time is not now, however. Not with the Headmaster watching you so closely.'

'The Dark Lord is nothing but careful, especially with a child that will one day come to mean a lot to the both of us. It is also not going to be easy to convince him of the deep connection we share.' Nodding sombrely at the reminder that he was responsible for part of his beloved Marvolo's soul wandering about without a body, Harry couldn't help the brief flash of fear that curled painfully in the pit of his stomach.

'What if the Dark Lord t-takes you away?'

'He can try, Harry. But he won't get far.' The older being promised. 'I told you before, we are bound together eternally. Our very souls, child, are connected in such ways that many lovers could only ever dream of experiencing such bliss. Our very destinies are twined together.'

'Risking me just to kill you is not something Lord Voldemort will ever do, I know exactly how he thinks, you see.'

'We are the same person.' Marvolo tapped his temple for emphasis, a sharp display of teeth crinkling the corners of his eyes as he leaned forward to press a chaste kiss against the jagged lightning bolt scar marring his Little Serpent's forehead.

Hissing in startled surprise however, when a spark of pure lightning shuddered all the way through the ancient diadem hidden in Harry's pocket, the Horcrux pulled away from his charge thoughtfully as he traced the pad of his thumb across his bottom lip.

Just what was that? Even Harry had reacted to the affection unexpectedly, those green eyes now rimmed in a shimmer of bloodied red behind round glasses as they stared at him openly.

Was it getting too dark or was his mind playing tricks?

Frowning in thought as he pressed an achingly small frame more comfortingly against his chest, dark crimson orbs watched in silence as the darkness once more consumed their ritual circle and brightly glowing embers died back to nothingness. The steady lightening in the sky, already told of the fact that they had been here for far too long.

A small frame was leaning heavily against his side as the dark entity guided them to their feet, small knuckles rubbing life back to drooping eyelids behind round rimmed spectacles as Harry barely noticed strong arms circling his waist and cradled him delicately against a warm chest.

The soothing scent of blood, burning fire, ice and cold darkness was lulling him further into sleep as his mind completely shut down. There had already been too many different emotions for him to process in one night...

'Come, Little Serpent. Let's get you to bed. We can talk about this another time.'

...

Time was slowly running out, menacing scarlet red eyes glimmering unnaturally from the darkened depths of a hooded cloak as the shadows clung possessively to macabre, two-faced, serpentine features. Lord Voldemort, for once in full possession of his servant's body; silently transversed the dark Forbidden Forest in search of prolonging Quirrell's fast approaching death.

The living always perished far too easily at the slightest touch of his soul, whether it was a snake or small animal he had possessed. Or the few unlucky humans that unknowingly crossed his path… They always died within three full months under his control, their souls insufferably weak and brittle like fractured glass.

It was further proof that the true mastery of necromantic art could not be used against the living, they were far too fragile. The taste of their fear and raging anguish, however, as the life drained from their eyes; was a heady rush all on its own. And with the new moon scurrying fearfully behind a curtain of impenetrable black, the perfect conditions for hunting life had been born.

The Dark Lord was skilfully tracking his prey through the forest on bare feet, vividly enforcing the natural laws contained in the soil.

After the decades he had spent learning the ebb and flow of black magic through his travels, the time he spent as a bodiless wraith had taught Lord Voldemort the rewards of unbiased patience. It was an unseen fortitude that allowed him an entire night free of his servant's whiny complaints now, or even thinking unnecessarily of the thwarted plans in acquiring the Sorcerer's stone.

He was calm enough to wait, to observe his surrounding and form a new strategy whilst the rest of the world dropped its guard. There was something important and unseen happening here at Hogwarts, after all. The small and unusual glimpse he had seen through Quirrell's eyes a few days ago, had confirmed his theory.

The instant he had observed his younger self standing by the shoulder of Harry Potter, his very breath had ground to a halt. It shouldn't have been possible for anyone but him to wake his Horcruxes, they were irrevocably cursed to devour anyone's soul daring enough to come too close. Yet, the deep connection he could feel forming between the two souls had bled through his Occlumency shields that day.

He could have sworn that he had stood in the presence of two Horcruxes, not just one. And more than that, the prophesied child had turned out nothing like he had ever expected. He would be truly surprised if the Headmaster ever persuaded the child to fight for his useless cause now, especially since he was so closely entwined with a very dark, very dangerous, Horcrux.

It hadn't done much to quell the rage at his own situation at present, however. But the piece of his soul's materialized presence, had offered its master enough clarity to step back and observe the coming events for now.

A glint of sharpened fangs, curling in a parody of a smile as slitted red eyes narrowed predatorily on a shimmering silver pelt a few meters ahead. It seemed that he had finally found what he was looking for—.

Twisting his head sharply, however, when an unusual vibration brushed across pale skin, the distinctive sensation of a swirling proximity and silencing ward soon tickled tentatively against the recesses of his mind. That in itself was unusual enough for the Dark Lord to stall his current hunt, a tightly controlled lash of magic whipping insistently against a delicately protected ambience.

The wards were exceptionally strong for a mere student to have erected, a lilting and swaying presence in the weave slumbering like serpents as narrowed eyes widened in surprise at the realization of just what was blocking his attempts… It was the successful incorporation of parseltongue in the magic, a feat that only he had ever succeeded with—.

A quiet, sensual, hiss was rolling eagerly from the tip of a forked tongue, barely concealed mirth shimmering behind shadowed features as bare feet slid smoothly passed the impressive seven point fire ward without any resistance. It was the perfect night for conjuring such delicious dark magic, the very air growing thick with enjoyment as the darkened night refused to relinquish its oppressive hold on any soul's passing senses.

A confidently straightened back was leaning nonchalantly against the bark of a tree, intensely focused scarlet orbs taking in the ancient ritual taking place before him as he remained careful not to cross the ritual circle and disturb the flow of magic.

The Dark Lord simply couldn't conceal his surprise when a brilliant Ignis Vitae fire soon consumed over a hundred moths in willing sacrifice. It had been many years since he had borne witness to such a magnitude of martyrdom from nature, almost as impressive as his own ritual had been at the age of sixteen. That time, an entire swarm of red caps had willingly come forth with their dying screams.

The small, cloaked, figure dictating death without a whimper of fear, however, was literally glowing in unrestrained power. He could be no older than a small first year, maybe even younger. But that simply wasn't possible—.

Allowing an exasperated sigh to colour the icy air misty white at his exhale, Voldemort openly relaxed at the caress of dark magic dancing against him as he waited patiently for his new prey to notice his presence. How long he was left to bask in the blissfully sweet sensations, he could not tell. Yet, when the sky lightened with the approach of morning; crimson orbs dilated in pleasure at the familiar sight that soon greeted him.

A tall form was walking deliberately in his direction with a small child slumbered peacefully against his chest, a cruel smirk twisting pale lips as the Dark Lord finally confronted the confusion that had plagued him several days ago.

§My, thisss isss jussst preciousss, my dark Horcrux…§ He hissed with forced amusement.

§Teaching such a small child the Dark Artsss? Not to mention, binding yourssself to the one resssponsible for my current sssstate…§ Two pairs of identical red eyes clashed violently in a heated glare, the younger soul shard bowing protectively over his chosen charge as a deadly predatory smile curled across usually calm regal features.

There was a palpable tension curling through the air around them, two identical magical signatures sparking violently against one another as time itself seemed to grind to an unstoppable halt.

§So you have finally shown yourself, Lord Voldemort...§ Came the returned hiss.

§I've been waiting for you to come forward and claim our new treasssure for a while now…§

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, my Honeys. I truly appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed my portrayal of Voldemort's character. There are many points in this chapter that will be expanded later on, I'm still working to get into the heads of my characters before focusing on confrontation between them. Good understanding of their makeup, means I can portray them much better in the future chapters.
> 
> Anyways, please leave me a little review if you do not mind, it will make my exhausting day a little better.
> 
> I'm also still torn on keeping Voldemort's snake-like appearance after his resurrection or giving him a body that's older than Marvolo's… Some of my Honey's input on that would be nice too on that too, I adore Voldemort's snake-like appearance as its right up my alley of macabre love stories. Oh well, I'll decide that later.
> 
> Thanks again for reading  
> Chocolate Carnival

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, please leave me a review or comment of what you thought. I would really appreciate it. Other than that, I'll probably be updating sometime soon.
> 
> Yours Always
> 
> Chocolate Carnival


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